LITMIR.BIZ

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um, Monday?” she asked.

      “Monday it is,” he confirmed with a studying gaze.

      She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. It was time to make her exit. She’d got what she came for: the first step of many in her master plan.

      Chapter 3

      Malcolm needed to get his head examined.

      His father’s office was the last place he wanted to be, and after that strange visit from Gloria a couple of days ago, he wasn’t too sure if it was a smart idea to be alone with her in any capacity. If he hadn’t gotten her to release him when he did, Gloria Kingsley would have felt something else rising from beneath his robe.

      Actually, he was sort of curious how she would’ve reacted. Heaven knows it was a surprise to him, but the combination of her floral-scented perfume and her soft curves pressed against him awakened something within.

      Something he didn’t want to explore.

      Now staring up at the brick-and-glass building of his father’s local office, Malcolm scanned his mental Rolodex of excuses for one that would get him out of going inside.

      Something other than the fact that he simply didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t ready. He may never be ready.

      He sat in his car, watching a few employees trickle out, carrying their boxes of belongings—each unemployed now that Harmon Braddock had passed away.

      The brave soul who would run for the vacant Twenty-ninth Congressional District seat would hire his own professional crew, but a few, like Gloria, would remain and help with whatever transition was needed from the old guard to the new.

      Then what will she do? Malcolm wondered.

      The question puzzled him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know that much about Gloria’s personal life or her history. He just knew the meticulously organized woman who ran his father’s office like a well-oiled machine. As far as he knew, she was never late, always professional and thought the sun rose and set on Harmon Braddock.

      Simply put, her hero worship of his father annoyed him.

      But say what he will, his father seemed equally impressed and dependent on Gloria as well—to the point that she was like a second daughter, a feeling that seemed mutually expressed by Malcolm’s mother as well.

      Shawnie and Tyson were also cast under her spell and had bragged about her on more than one occasion. Yep, everyone loved Gloria, and yet whenever she and Malcolm were in the same room atoms and neutrons collided.

      “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.” He removed the keys from the ignition and climbed out of his silver hybrid SUV. “Whatever you do, stay calm. Don’t let her bait you or get under your skin,” he coached, as if he was gearing up for his old college football games.

      “Malcolm.” A familiar voice whipped out at him as he lumbered up the sidewalk. He looked up and smiled into Mrs. Blake’s kind face. Something about the grandmotherly southern woman made him think of Little League and homemade apple pies. Nothing about her said politics, but in truth she was one impressive campaign manager.

      “Hello, Mrs. Blake,” he greeted her when he reached her. He stooped over and kissed each side of her face and enjoyed the sound of her lighthearted giggles.

      “Such a handsome boy,” she murmured, like she always did when their paths crossed. “What a lovely service your family put together this past weekend. Your father was a very special man.” Her eyes shimmered. “I can’t tell you how much he’ll be missed.”

      “We’ll all miss him,” he said, combating his own tears.

      “You know, I don’t even understand why he was driving himself that night,” she said. “He usually had his personal driver, Joe, take him everywhere.”

      Malcolm nodded solemnly. “I guess he just felt like driving himself that night,” he said. “The police report said he had to be speeding when he lost control of the car and skidded off the road. The car flipped over and…”

      “Don’t do this to yourself. You know he was so proud of you.” Mrs. Blake gave his right cheek a loving pat. “I know the past two years…”

      Malcolm tensed and dropped his gaze.

      Mrs. Blake patiently tilted up his chin; her smile never wavered. “He loved you,” she said succinctly.

      “I know,” he answered, and received another pat on the cheek.

      They quickly said their goodbyes and Malcolm trudged the rest of the way to his father’s old stomping ground. The moment he entered through the doors, the few people remaining all turned in their chairs. Most of them smiled, while the others gave sympathetic shakes of their heads.

      He gave everyone an awkward wave.

      “There you are, Malcolm,” Gloria said, rounding the corner and rescuing him before the curious descended.

      “I didn’t know so many people were still going to be here,” he whispered, trailing behind her military-like march to his father’s office.

      “There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done,” she said simply. “A lot of loose ends.”

      He nodded and made a quick glance at his watch. Two hours, he reminded himself.

      “I saw you sitting in your car,” she went on. “I was beginning to think you were going to chicken out.”

      Malcolm’s back stiffened. “It feels a bit too soon to be doing this,” he defended.

      “And yet it still needs to be done,” she said, rejecting the excuse.

      He huffed under his breath, thinking she was more robot than woman.

      Gloria walked over to the far right side of the office where a mahogany bookshelf held a library of his father’s law books. “This was Harmon’s personal collection. I believe it was passed down from your grandfather. I have these containers,” she pointed to a stack of blue Wal-Mart brand plastic tubs. “They are labeled and ready. Over here…” She pointed to another bookshelf. “As you can see, these are filled with Harmon’s personal pictures, awards and other personal effects. Those can go into these labeled clear tubs. I sent Mabel out to find us some bubble wrap and foam popcorn so we can minimize potential damages.”

      For that, he did roll his eyes. “I don’t think all that was necessary.”

      “Don’t be silly. Of course it was necessary,” she said, and then flittered to another section of the office, where she had more containers labeled. Soon he tuned out her endless prattle and wondered when they were actually going to get down to the business of packing boxes. When she reached the file cabinets and started in on personal tax records versus business travel expenses, Malcolm concluded this was definitely going to take more than a couple of hours.

      Amazingly, she didn’t stop there. There was stuff on the desk, in the desk, pictures on the walls, pictures on the shelves. It was all mind-numbingly dull. Which was the only reason Malcolm’s gaze drifted to study Gloria’s petite body sheathed in a tight, gray pencil skirt (as Shawnie called them) and a cloud-white blouse that perhaps had one button too many open.

      Every once in a while when Gloria dipped or turned, he would get a peek of a creamy-brown breast or a black lace bra. It was a cheap thrill, but he was more than willing to take it…and enjoy it.

      “Maybe I should get us some coffee before we get started,” Gloria suggested, turning and almost catching him staring.

      She waited a moment, and then he realized that he was supposed to say something. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

      “Coffee?” she asked, folding her arms and pulling her shirt open a bit and exposing a fair amount of what he guessed was a C-cup.

      She was still waiting.

      He

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